Exaltation of The Cross

This was my call to Ireland. Yes, there will be PhD work and the beauty of exploring and researching New Monasticism and there will be fruit from this venture as I can attest to a number of people here who already listen in rapt attention when I speak of things spiritual and loving. This is the blessing of the cross. But alongside this there will be trials of the sort that is to bring healing to this country and so many hurt, abandoned and feeling alone as Ireland does not know how to approach healing the trauma that exists here.

And I wonder each day... has my life and its own suffering and experience and education led me to this cross to embrace? So as I am blessed, I am also under trial. And isn't that what we are all called to in a life of holiness.... to embrace the cross? To rely completely on Him who calls us to act in the world? And as a Benedictine, aren't I to spend my life navigating the subtlety of prayer and whatever work God calls me to do in a spirit of peace and harmony, knowing that it is His will to decide when to accost a soul with trial and simultaneously bless them with every grace to be fruitful? Isn't that why I have courage and yet can remain as a child, humble and apt to cultivate purity of heart? To see both the cross in front of me and the rainbow overhead and to remain in a state of awe and wonder at the actions of my Beloved as He rushes through me like water to fill every nook and cranny needing His help? And isn't this why I feel breathless after every one of these moments? And energized to His power and magnificence?

I said my prayers this morning to Mary, to cover me with the mantle of her purity and grace to intercede for me to her Son. I was struck over and over again this morning that Jesus was called to save sinners. And for those who listen, the saving is kind and gentle; those who are rebellious, the saving is full of trial and they may refuse and walk straight on to the path of the hell they create for themselves. But the first echo within me of the Divine call many years ago was, "Save sinners." And it was a command, not a question. And so I do as best as I can. And I am never alone, Christ is within me. And even though I have been beset by the normal spiritual trials of my own spiritual development, and the ungodly at every turn tries to deceive and frighten me, my house is built on the rock of Faith and cannot be washed away. And so I go, arms submitted to the Beloved I love, who comes before all else and surrender to His plan for me. And His plan is always this.... there is the grace that pours down through me from Him to others and the trials and burden to bear. But since I am yoked to Christ, His yoke is easy and His burden is light. And so He blesses me every day with something.

And so this refrain today... a son of God waits to be spoken to in sentences of love. It is patience that makes us divine. Exult in the embrace of the cross as you lay your head on the dust and dirt of the feet of Christ and gaze up into His eyes of compassion and know this one truth. It is mercy He desired. His words were of love and empathy for the sinners in His midst... He wanted to heal the world. And that means you and me.

In Remembrance of 9/11

The grace of Divine love led me today after mass into a shop... a destiny of sorts for two mourning souls to join in peace and share a grief that strikes us so suddenly, we remain breathless sometimes for years on end.

Irish, she heard of my loss at 9/11 since I could not come back on Saturday when she next worked... I would be in prayer, in remembrance. She too had lost a loved one, her son's fiance on the plane from Argentina to Dublin that went down into the cold seas forever lost... whose son crushed with grief became surrounded by friends, first one, then two, then many, each day to support and comfort him. The girl was so young, a Trinity medical student and was the love of his life... a smile that could light up a room and a heart so in love. And so his mother through tears chose a white candle to honor both and light on 9/11, she gave it to me... a moment shared, in solidarity that sometimes the way of the world is not to be understood, but accepted. As each day is a day of death that should never happen... tragedy that should not be... loss that cannot be recovered.

I am remembering my father, trapped underground in NYC in a subway on his way to meet his lawyer in the twin towers. She was killed that day... my father lingered and died a few months later... I am remembering my children whose father was also in NYC that day, who cleaved to me watching the sights and sounds of the towers falling again and again... I am remembering my daughter who in her shock felt helpless and fell asleep wrapped in a blanket from a long ago childhood... I am remembering my son who helped me hang the large American flag over our front door as he told me he wished he was a firefighter and could have saved them all. I am remembering my friends... so many who were there, some lost forever and some who simply lost their way after that day.

And I gaze on this white candle that I will burn on 9/11 in a spirit of peace and love for those who have lost their lives or their selves. And I will pray for those who choose to burn the Holy Qu'ran rather than a candle of peace, knowing that their flame is a flame of intolerance and hate and mine is a flame of Divine love.

In remembrance for peace, I choose to cultivate purity of heart and allow the chaos of others not to touch my soul. It is in the stillness of peace that love is procreated and released into the world.

And so my new friend in Dublin... this flame of love is for us both.

Of Bluebirds and Butterflies

Curiosity has gotten the better of you!
Caught in the wind chime – so attracted to its tune.
The backdrop of autumnal colors,
highlight outstretched wings in flight.
And yet, enraptured by the tinkling sound,
you hover, near noiselessly.
Waiting for the next breath of wind.

Of bluebirds and butterflies, this yard is full.
Full of God’s small fertile creatures of morn.
Warm sun, bright skies, evoke your busyness of day.
Resting on last blooms of bushes, you love to feed upon.
One last look into the nest, head poking in and out,
before winds claim you to migration southward.

Sitting here, restful, shadow cast long behind me,
eyes reflect blueness of sky and wing.
Smiling, to pass time, while watching the monarch soar.
The litters of green balls of walnuts cover vast leaf beds.
For now, their fragrance foretells of busy squirrels,
when wintry white snows come blowing in.